Outside the Office- Will romance survive? #mmromance #contemporary #redemptionisalongshot

Loving Jacob

An M/M Contemporary Romance

Chapter Three

Several weeks of hurried encounters later, Malcolm found himself once again rushing through breakfast with a bewildered Liam in order to reach the office early. He couldn't understand the niggling guilt that poked at his conscience any more than he did the urgent need to see Jacob. Adding to the unaccustomed emotional mix that caused his scrambled eggs and bacon to churn was a very troubling anger at having to cancel his plans with Jacob this evening in order to attend a school function with Penny and Liam.

I am not going to feel like this, he swore, rushing through the light foot traffic in front of the building. Calm down. A few deep breaths settled his protesting stomach somewhat, and deliberately, he paused before pushing open the tinted glass door. The frisson of excitement that prickled along his skin told him that Jacob was in the lobby somewhere. Malcolm refused to seek him out instantly. Instead, he paused to greet the perky young receptionist and grizzled old security guard where they stood at the marble information counter, poised to direct visitors to the building.

"Good morning, Molly, Ted." He fought the urge to let his gaze roam to the coffee bar. Jacob would be there. Would he be seated at one of the tiny tables for two, waiting for Malcolm, or engulfed in the crowd of laughing young men who hung on his every word?

"Sir. Lovely day," the receptionist responded timidly. The security guard merely smiled and nodded, and Malcolm couldn't stand it any longer. His hand tightened on the handle of his brown leather bag and the beat of his heart drowned out the click of the heels of his Italian loafers on the marble floor. He hoped like hell his emotions didn't show on his face as he turned toward the coffee bar. Slow, even pace, do not run, he cautioned himself as his gaze sought Jacob instinctively.

His gorgeous man stood at the counter, amethyst eyes twinkling and pink mouth stretched wide in a joyful smile. Malcolm felt the sudden smile that stretched his lips at the sight fade as he watched Jacob flirt outrageously with the Goth girl barista, covering her black nail-tipped hand with his own, before leaning across the gleaming mahogany bar. With a wicked laugh, the man-stealing little slut bent across the counter to meet Jacob as he moved forward. The girl's black lipstick-coated mouth closed in on Jacob's, and Malcolm's chest tightened as he watched in shock while they indulged in an obviously incredibly intimate kiss with a lot of tongue action.

His breakfast lurched in protest again as he remembered Jacob's words from their first encounter, "The man or woman with whom I share my life fully…" Fuck. Jacob was seeing other people? And why shouldn't he? Malcolm chided himself as he forced his feet to continue across the lobby. You knew he was looking for a Prince Fucking Charming, maybe he's decided on a princess instead. The thought that Jacob may have found someone else turned Malcolm's incipient nausea into an imminent threat.

Laughing, Jacob pulled back from the kiss and scrubbed black lipstick from his mouth with a napkin. He waved at the Goth girl and spoke a few words to the golden-haired muscled guy from accounting that stood in line behind him, and then picked up two insulated cups of coffee as he turned to find an empty table. When his searching gaze caught Malcolm's, his face lit up with excitement and the amethyst eyes sparkled with pleasure. His voice rang out across the lobby in greeting.

"Malcolm! There you are! I got your coffee. There's a table over here." He wound his way through the maze of tiny tables, gesturing for Malcolm to follow.

Surprised and appalled by the volume of that comment, which fell into one of those tiny moments of silence that sometimes occur even in busy places, Malcolm hurried over to the table Jacob had selected and seated himself.

He glanced cautiously around to see if anyone observed the intimacy of their meeting. No one paid them any attention. Relieved, Malcolm noted several tables where two men sat chatting together amongst the other mixed-sex couples and larger groups, and relaxed slightly.

He studied Jacob, who chattered away, oblivious to the roiling emotions making it impossible for Malcolm to concentrate, cheeks flushed, glossy pink lips smiling exuberantly. He'd seen that same look on that perfect face after he'd kissed Jacob, while they writhed together, cocks straining for release, bodies quivering in arousal and excitement. Only this time, he snarled inside, it wasn't your kiss that created the desire. He focused so intently on the movement of those lips, remembering them being devoured by the Goth girl barista, that he could barely distinguish the sounds that were coming out of them as words.

"Do you think I should get a tongue piercing? It felt amazing. I couldn't believe it. The soft wet heat, then the stroke of that metal ball rolling around in my mouth. I couldn't help imagining how it would feel on other parts of…"

Malcolm jerked his attention from Jacob's mouth to realize that the other man had grasped his hand and held it in his own in full view of everyone else in the lobby. He jerked his hand back in shock. What the fuck was he doing? Discretion. He had to be discreet. Holding fucking hands with another man in the lobby of his own office building was not discreet! It violated the parameters of his agreement with Penny, and shit…he'd be extremely lucky if he weren't the subject of gossip on everyone's tongue before lunch.

Too late he saw the hurt in Jacob's eyes as the other man's face paled and he dropped the offending hand into his lap. Whatever Jacob had been going on about before, Malcolm should have just stuck to what he needed to say this morning and left.

Before he could open his mouth to tell Jacob that he had to cancel their plans for the evening, the hurt vanished from his face to be replaced with a flush of anger. The amethyst eyes sparkled now with unshed tears, and the pink-lipped smile became a taut frown.

"What the fuck, Malcolm? What's going on?" Jacob kept his voice reasonably low pitched, for which Malcolm was grateful. He really didn't want a scene.

"Look, Jacob." He checked around again to see if anyone was watching them. "No PDAs, okay? I have to be in court at ten, and I…"

Jacob's face paled again, and his voice dropped even further, icy venom dripping from every word, this time there was no question of Malcolm not understanding everything Jacob said. "I'm not sneaking around to be some rich asshole's dirty little secret, Malcolm. Either you want to be with me, or you don't, but you don't get to drag me into the closet with you. I came out a long time ago, and guess what? I like living in the sunlight."

Fuck. "I'm not trying to drag you into the closet, okay? I just want you to be discreet here at work. I don't want people gossiping about us. Do you really want to be the subject of conversation at every desk and water cooler in the building?"

"I told you I wanted more than sex, Malcolm, and I haven't changed my mind. I'm looking for the whole shebang, two point five kids, a badly trained dog, a fluffy if somewhat disdainful cat, house in the suburbs, and a lover to help shoulder the load."

"And I told you I am not that man. Is that what was up with you and the barista? You ready to quit practicing and go for the real thing?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew it had been a mistake to let them escape.

Jacob stood, picking up his coffee cup. "Practice is canceled, Malcolm."

Guess that took care of the problem of Liam's school function tonight. Malcolm rose from the tiny table and scowled at the Goth barista, who responded to his unsolicited belligerence by sticking out her tongue at him. Her pierced tongue. He shuddered, comprehending Jacob's earlier blathering gratefully a little too late as the thought of Jacob's tongue adorned by one of those slick shiny metal balls tracing over his cock caused a predictable reaction.

He raced for the stairs, certain that the elevator would be just the thing to send his unsteady stomach over the edge. The trip up to the third floor in the silent enclosed stairwells should have given him time to calm down, but he couldn't stop the echo of Jacob's icy voice in his head, "Practice is canceled, Malcolm. Practice is canceled, Malcolm." It resounded with every footstep on the metal stairs, and by the time he slammed the door open on the third floor, Malcolm barely made it to his private bathroom before losing his breakfast.

Back at his desk, he opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of scotch, tipped it back and gulped a quick belt to settle his stomach. Breaking up with a lover had never caused such a reaction. Fix it, an insidious voice inside whispered. He had a horrible premonition that voice came from his heart, not his cock. Replacing the bottle and closing the drawer with a thud, he reminded himself he had to be in court at ten and didn't have time to fix anything.

The memory of purple eyes drenched with unshed tears interfered with what little work he attempted to complete before leaving for court, until with an exasperated sigh, he paused by Marge's desk on the way out.

"How many people does Martin have working for him in the tech department?" he mumbled.

"Three. There's that gal from USC, the little nerdy guy who fixes stuff, and that programmer you had me call up here before. The cute one, you remember?" Marge's smirk grated on his nerves, but Malcolm persevered.

"That's the one I need. I'm going to be in court all afternoon, but can you email me his contact information? I have a project I'm going to need help with."

The elevator's shiny doors slid shut on Marge's disbelieving gaze, and Malcolm was tormented on the short ride to the lobby by visions of himself on his knees in the elevator, taking Jacob's throbbing cock deep in his throat and begging the man without words to come for him, and only him.

His phone vibrated against his hip as he stepped reluctantly into the lobby. His hand went to it automatically as he forced his gaze away from the coffee bar, where the barista flirted with another customer. He'd overreacted. He knew it. Jealousy was just so fucking new to him. The humiliation of this morning's incident couldn't keep him from hoping that the vibrating phone meant Jacob wanted to talk to him. Flipping it open, he saw an email from Marge with the information he'd asked for.

Should he call now? His fingers tingled with the need to dial the phone. He wanted to explain his feelings to Jake. Make plans for a meeting in the morning. They could have their coffee in his office before anyone arrived and reestablish the rules they'd agreed upon weeks ago. Fuck buddies without penetration. Discreet fuck buddies. Remembering Jacob's anger, he decided to wait until the evening to call and give the other man time to cool off.

Teary purple eyes tempted him to call throughout the tedious jury selection process, and more than once, he jerked his hand from his cell phone with a silent curse. Patience and discretion, he cautioned himself. Give Jake the opportunity to realize he'd been protecting both of them from gossip. Discretion and sneaking around were not the same thing.

Six hours of jury selection tried Malcolm's patience to the edge of its existence and he'd barely seated himself behind the wheel of his luxury car before he had his phone out and input Jacob's number from Marge's email. The phone rang only twice before it was answered.

"Jacob?" he asked, caught by surprise. Why hadn't he planned what he wanted to say more precisely? Fucking eight years of school and fifteen years of speaking to judges and juries, and he couldn't put together a logical sentence when talking to this man.

"Malcolm?" Jacob's voice sounded slightly hoarse. Remembering the tears he'd seen earlier, Malcolm immediately wondered if Jacob had been crying over him.

Hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to know the answer, he asked, "Are you all right?"

A deep sigh over the airwaves was his only answer.

Concerned, Malcolm forced himself to speak. "I…" Shit. "Meet me in my office tomorrow morning?" Remembering being stood up after his first order to Jacob to meet him in his office, Malcolm was glad it had come out as a question and added, softening his voice to a husky whisper, "Please."

"Okay, I'll be there. I'm sorry about this morning." Jacob's voice had gained strength. "It was just a casual kiss, with Kelly, I mean."

Malcolm smiled at his phone. "I overreacted. I'm sorry. I'll see you in the morning."

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New Excerpt for Cold Comfort: In From the Cold #2

Pulp Friction 2014 Presents

In From the Cold #2 

Cold Comfort 

Prince Charming Wannabe Finn Lorensson is living his own fairy tale. Sure, his intended is more frog than princess, but what's love worth if you don't have to slay a few dragons on the way?

Cannon Malloy is adapting…to life in Flagstaff, the cold, teaching...and to Finn. He's about decided that letting himself be loved isn't such a bad thing after all.

When an opportunist from Finn's past threatens both love and career, can the frog save his prince?

EXCERPT

Chapter One

"Professor Lorensson?"

Finn glanced up from a stack of essay exams handwritten by his freshman class to find a handsome young man with a determined tilt to his chin and narrowed eyes hovering in his doorway. The aura of privileged overindulgence hung about the man, from his designer backpack, looped over one shoulder by a strap, to his carefully disarranged hair. He was a picture of spoiled petulance being denied what it wanted for the first time ever.

The man was vaguely familiar, a former student in one of his classes perhaps. "May I help you?"

"You don't remember me, do you?"

Finn squinted, but the shadows hung over the man's face, and he looked a lot like many other young campus men. Thin, moderate height, lugging a backpack and sporting a chin strap beard. "I apologize. I usually do quite well with faces, but, no I don't remember you." Could he be a student in one of Finn's classes? Someone who had never managed to make it to office hours? Someone he hadn't spoken to face to face before? It was one of his requirements for all of his classes that each student see him at least twice a semester, the first time for a discussion of the material and the second to establish a topic for the final written exam. No…the man was familiar, but he couldn't be a student. "Please come in." He gestured to the steel folding chair opposite his desk. His gaze caught on the single rose in a vase on the corner of his desk, and he smiled slightly.

"I'm Lassiter," he announced before stepping farther into the room. The light from Finn's desk lamp cast his face in the right sort of shadow and a shoe dropped. Not a former student, no. A former lover, if a one-night stand could be classified as such. They'd met at a bar the previous summer, and the man's pale good looks had appealed momentarily to Finn's inner Prince Charming. Lassiter had proved to be more the spoiled stepsister than a Cinderella in need of rescue though, and that one occasion had been the extent of their relationship.

"I think you can help me." The man sneered, approaching the desk where Finn sat and glaring down at him. "You can tell me why you denied my request to be assigned to you for advisement."

Finn exhaled slowly, annoyance creeping through him. "My policy on this is quite firm." It didn't matter that he'd never even seen the request. The dean of students was well aware that Finn's hands were full in that department and would have assigned new requests to any of the other ten professors on staff. "I do not mix business and pleasure."

The determined chin tipped up still further, and Finn schooled his expression not to snort as the younger man narrowed his eyes and shifted his hands in his pockets. Did he think he was being intimidating? Or that his attempts at bullying would make Finn change his mind?

"I could go to the dean and tell him about you." And there, now the threat was unmistakable. A cold, hard anger tightened Finn's gut. His nostrils flared but he refrained from reaching across the desk and shaking the young fool. What the hell was the matter with today's kids that they thought blackmail and bribery were the way to get what they wanted?

Unfortunately, this particular millennial was barking up the wrong tree. "I make no secret of my sexual orientation. The dean as well as most of the faculty and many of the students are quite aware of my preferences. Some even have attempted to use their knowledge to their own ends." He squared his shoulders and lowered his voice, narrowing his eyes on the man across the desk. "Whether by offering me favors in exchange for grades or threatening to expose me to scandal and ridicule. Is that what you're about now? Is that why you were in that club last summer in the first place?"

The man started, shook minutely, then stiffened. "You took advantage of me, a drunk student. The dean and press will hardly look favorably upon that! All I am asking in return for my silence is that you tell the dean you've changed your mind and will accept my petition for advisement."

"I can't do that." Finn pushed his chair back, then leaned forward, watching the man earnestly. He'd been approached  by love-struck students before, young men and women with crushes, awed by his looks or intelligence or some perceived need they saw in him that they felt they fulfilled, or more likely, some need in themselves that they thought he could fulfill. Those he let down easy, this one though…he didn't have the doe-eyed look of someone who fancied himself in love. Not that that would have changed things.

"Really. My load is full. I have twelve advisees in masters' programs and six doing doctoral research. I teach my three classes on campus and another three online from home. There's no way I could offer you the guidance you need to develop your studies." And he didn't exchange academic favors for mediocre blow jobs. Especially not when he had a man like Cannon Malloy, strangely vulnerable and achingly needy, who was perfect for him at home. Or rather, next door. He'd been true to his word, treating Cannon like a friend, coaxing him slowly into his arms over the last two months, backing off at the least sign of anxiety or prickliness.

"I won't create more work for you. You're the best, that's what they all say. I want you for my advisor."

Assuming a stern expression, Finn remained firm. "We slept together. There is no way I can accept you as my advisee, even if the decision were solely mine to make. As you so adroitly pointed out, it would be unethical."

A flush darkened the thin cheeks, and tension vibrated the man's frame. His hands in his pockets jerked and pulled at the fabric. "This isn't the end of this! You'll see!"

"I sincerely hope that you let the matter drop. I assure you there is no way that this will happen, and to be honest, I have no idea why you think it would be a good idea to force me to be your advisor when I do not wish to do so. That can hardly create the rapport needed for a successful education." He glanced derisively at the boy, because despite the fact that he was in his late twenties, this was clearly no man but a spoiled child.

The flush deepened to an allover blush of humiliation that might have stirred some pity in Finn if the man hadn't been attempting to victimize him "You wouldn't hold it against me. Everyone says you're fair. That's why I wanted you."

"Are you sure you didn't want me because you thought you could continue to leverage that mediocre blow job into an A? Or an eventual placement in the doctoral program? Hm?" He quirked a brow. "You're just looking for an easy path to success, and thought I could pave your way. I tell you now, it isn't going to happen."

Dismissively turning his attention back to the stack of midterms in front of him, he picked up his red pen. "Find someone else to play your manipulative games on."

The younger man hovered, tension growing. Finn could feel his frustrations building, but remained resolute. If he compromised this principle now, then his entire career became suspect, and his future.

Just when it was looking like he could achieve all his dreams, just when Cannon had come into his life, when he'd reached a level of success in his career that he'd dreamed of, when everything was promising, he could lose it all.

It wasn’t going to happen.

LOOK FOR COLD COMFORT
APRIL 1, 2014 

AT EBOOK VENDORS 

New Excerpt : The Old Soda Shop

The Old Soda Shop 

At All Romance eBooks! 

Former college roommates Matt and Sam have a history.

Will a chance encounter in the street lead to a second chance at love?

Years ago, art student Matt Gilray's world turned on its axis when his lover Sam rejected him at their favorite hangout. He'd spent the years since learning to be a businessman and an artist, letting go, forgetting a love affair that had brought him more pain than joy in the end.

A last minute realization that his college fuck buddy had turned into a lover wasn’t enough to stop business student Sam Balantyne from chasing his dreams. When the dreams runs out, Sam returns home and buys the derelict soda shop where they used to hang out. He wasn't looking for a second chance; he just wanted to enjoy a memory.

In the process of “freeing himself to pursue his dreams”, had Sam tarnished them beyond recovery?

EXCERPT 

Chapter 1

Sam Balantyne trudged down the slushy sidewalk of the historic district of Greely, Colorado, gazing unseeing into the falling slush. The gray sky suited his mood. Very few people were foolish enough to be out walking in this mess. Most people had the sense to be at home or somewhere warm. Not Sam. No, thanks to his flaky, thoughtless sexy roommate, he walked down an icy street in a part of town where even bikes were frowned upon just off campus. It was safe enough not to look. No random cars would splash murky water on unwary pedestrians. No cars were permitted on the brick work streets of Old Town.

Sam knew where he was going and exactly how many steps in the icy slush it would take to get there. An hour ago, he’d been contentedly lounging on his bed, studying for midterms next week, when his flighty roommate called. He curled his hands into fists inside the deep pockets of his navy wool pea coat. Fucking Matt. Such a goddamn pie-in-the-sky dreamer. How did I end up with an art student for a roommate in the first place? Every month turned into a damn race against the clock to see if Matt would be able to pull together his share of the rent, or the cable, or whatever. Bad enough that Sam perpetually fed the man, now this.

Apparently Matt had gotten the rent money but couldn’t be bothered to come home and give it to Sam. No. Sam had to meet him at the soda shop off Fifth Street because Matt had other things to do. Ordinarily, Sam loved the soda shop. He and Matt had spent many great sunny afternoons there, sitting on the patio, guy watching and laughing, even occasionally sharing a lemon Italian Cream Soda.

The bitter cold wind cut through the thick wool of his coat, and Sam caught himself wondering if Matt had had the sense to wear a jacket when he left the apartment that morning. Probably not. The sun had been shining then, and Matt never could see beyond the moment.

Someone, possibly even Matt himself, had put a colorful knitted ski cap on the head of the old stone lion that guarded the occult book shop next door to the soda shop. The lilting notes of a sexy little jazz number drifted from the tiny bar on the other side of the soda shop. The music and the light from the window created a perfect backdrop for the vision that met Sam’s eyes when he looked up. In the golden glow from the soda shop window, he saw Matt sitting at a tiny table for two on the front patio of the shop. He wore a thin leather jacket and Sam’s navy blue wool beanie tugged down low over his ears as he sat on the tiny black iron chair. His booted feet rested on the other seat. Matt puffed on one of the little clove cigarettes he favored and cupped hands covered in fingerless gloves around the tiny source of heat. The little table in front of him held an ashtray and two steaming mugs of hot chocolate into which the slushy snow fell.

Sam shook his head. Smoking cloves was bad enough, better than tobacco scent-wise by a small margin, but who the hell sat on the patio in this freaking weather? Airheaded art majors, that was who. “God damn it, Matt! How many times have I told you to dress warmly when you leave the house? You’re going to get sick! And…” The words spilled from his mouth before he could stop them, a ludicrous tirade that his own mother would have cringed to hear. He snatched the cigarette out of his roommate’s hand. “Smoking this shit will kill you!”

Matt turned to look at him, and Sam nearly groaned. The heavy feeling in his heart, the anger at Matt’s foolishness, seemed to melt away as he caught the expression in those bright blue eyes. He wasn’t surprised to find his own heart beating faster, stirring with desire despite the cold. He was surprised by the lilt of happiness that brightened the gray of the late winter day. Fuck. He didn’t want to feel this way, to let anyone have the ability to create sunshine in his day with a crooked little smile. Especially not Matt. Matt drifted along perfectly content, dreaming and painting and starving for his art. Sam dreamed of bigger things. He wanted success, the bright lights of a big city, and by big he didn’t mean Denver! He wanted all the luxuries life could afford. And that look in Matt’s eyes… had he always looked at him that way?

Matt removed his boots from the seat with a grimace.

“No, thanks. I’ll pass. Look. I’m going home this weekend.” He hadn’t planned to, but a weekend in Denver with his mom and dad, siblings running all over, would screw his head back on straight. “You keep the rent money. Use it to find another place to stay, okay? I can’t keep doing this every month.”

Matt protested instantly, the shock on his face heart-wrenching. “Sam, I promise. It won’t happen again. I got a job. That’s why I couldn’t come to the apartment.”

Sam shook his head, schooling his features to hide his feelings. “No. It’s just not working out for us.” But it could, his heart argued. He shut it down instantly. Not taking that chance. Better to end things now, before either of them got any more involved and while they both still had the chance to make their dreams come true.

“Sam, I love you. I don’t want to move out. Just, please, give me one more month to prove I can do this?” Matt’s voice cracked on the words he forced out. Sam couldn’t tell if tears or melting snowflakes caused the dampness on his pale cheeks.

Hardening his heart, Sam continued, “That’s just it, Matt. I don’t want to be loved. I don’t want to love anyone. I just wanted to get laid a little. I need freedom to pursue my dreams, and taking care of you, it’s a burden I don’t want. I thought it was all just fun. You’re taking things way too seriously. So, please, do us both a favor and leave before I get back Monday afternoon?” His dad would lend him the money for the rent this month.

Unable to meet those blue eyes without throwing his arms around Matt’s slim shoulders and hugging him tight, without promising that they could try again, without swearing he would never be such an ass again, Sam turned and stumbled against the stone lion, knocking the knit cap into the slush, where eddies of muddy liquid blurred its bright colors. He whirled and tromped back up the street he’d just come down, ignoring Matt calling his name behind him as he went.

Stolen Moment...WIP WEDNESDAY with Chance Dumont

My current project is the fifth Chances Are book, the last one in the series. It's not quite farewell for Chance and Rory, but its very hard to write. I can't say too much, because Laura and Havan will never let me live it down if I do, but just wait- December will bring a surprise for all our Pulp Friction Fans. 

Meanwhile, Chance has problems that need to be resolved, and this is where I am. (Please remember that this is first draft, unedited ms)

Chance in Hell 

copyright Aug. 2013 Lee Brazil

"I think it's best, don't you?" His brow wrinkled as his cell phone beeped and he reached for it. Anyone else might have missed the hesitation, the dread in his eyes as he checked the caller. I wasn't just anyone. I'd known Cannon long enough and well enough to recognize the fear behind his actions.

He swallowed and put the phone away without answering it.

"Something wrong Cannon?"

"Just a guy who won't take no for an answer."

"Oh yeah? Want me to have a word with him?" The offer was out before I realized how it would look, me warning guys off my ex.

"Would you? In fact, maybe you could do me a favor with that. It's this guy I met at …um…" His cheeks flushed and he swallowed again. Sin dropped a coaster and a second glass of whiskey in front of him and sauntered away in silence. Maybe the double rejection had wounded his vanity. "Look, your friend introduced us, and we went out a couple of times, but I'm not interested in a relationship and this guy just doesn’t want to hear it." He held the phone out to me, and I took it.

I glanced down at the number, but it wasn't one I recognized. I hit talk and listened to the phone ring while watching Cannon twitch nervously in his seat and gulp the blasted whiskey. Something had him on edge, and it hardly seemed like the reaction to a persistent suitor.

"Masters."

"Look," I didn't bother choosing my words wisely. In fact, it felt great to just let the anger and emotion roll out. "He's not interested in seeing you, and if that's not clear enough to get you to stop calling, well I've got any number of other options than talking to make my point."

"Who is this?" The deep graveled voice was cultured and powerful, the voice of a man who expected to be obeyed, respected, and xxx. "Why do you have Cannon's phone?"

The hell was a guy like that harassing Cannon for? "This is Chance DuMont, not that it matters. When a man says no, he means no. That's all there is to it. I'm just the kind of friend who makes sure that pricks like you understand that." Cannon's face turned white and he trembled as he picked up the glass and drained it. He waved the glass in the air for a refill, staring steadfastly at the row of bottles on the shelves.

After a brief silence, Cannon's would be boyfriend spoke again. "Is he there? Give him the phone."

"He doesn't want to talk to you." Interestingly, Cannon's head turned and his lips parted. I almost heard a whispered protest, but then he pressed them so tightly together that a thin white line formed around his mouth. He gripped his glass so tightly his knuckles whitened as well. Hmmm.

"I don't accept that. Ask yourself why he won't talk to me himself Chance."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And that is pretty much as far as I've gotten. Somehow, removing the third wheel form this relationship is harder than it should be, probably because I quite like Cannon, and I wasn't at all sure for a while there whether Chance would end up with Rory or Cannon at the end. At this point, anything can happen. 

TGIF! Friday Extended Excerpt: His Admirer

Welcome Back Readers! I'm incredibly excited to announce my newest M/M Contemporary Release!

It's perfect timing for Extended Excerpt Friday!

Here's an introduction to His Admirer, which began life as a prompt story on my blog, courtesy of The Story Orgy, back in 2011!

You can purchase this from Amazon or All Romance

His Admirer

Chapter One

"Battle: Salmon!" Kenji Fukui had just announced the ingredient in the first ever Iron Chef battle, when the familiar yet unexpected rap came on my door. Typically, my traitorous heart pounded and anticipation stirred. It had to be Gabe, with that silly patterned knock.

I jumped off the couch and smiled weakly at my sister. "Um…"

She frowned at me. "Zeke? Is that him? I thought we were gonna hang out tonight?"

Mindy and I were hardly dressed for company. She'd been home all summer, and we'd scarce spent any time together. Tonight was supposed to be for us, we planned to loaf around at home all evening with back to back episodes of our favorite campy television program, watching the judges gush over fish gut ice cream, while eating Ben and Jerry's by the tub.

We'd planned, plotted, and finagled for this night of twin bonding. Why the hell was Gabe banging on our door?

"Yeah. It's him. I…"

She waved a spoonful of Chunky Monkey in my direction. "Go. See what he wants, but if you're not back in before the end of the show, I'm going to eat the Chubby Hubby, too."

Mindy was great like that. "Thanks, Mindy. I swear, I did not double book on this night." The little excited pitter patter of my heart wouldn't let me be too mad at Gabe though. He was a busy guy, and I didn’t see him as often as I'd like. The habit he'd developed lately of dropping by without notice, though, bothered me. On the one hand, I considered as I strolled to the front door, it meant he was comfortable and happy in our relationship, which I had to see as a plus.

On the other, expecting me to be home and available without notice struck me as taking advantage. I didn't care for that at all.

I pulled open the front door and was assaulted by two completely different types of heat.

One was due to the late evening humidity and the high temperatures, but the other was all Gabe.

Tall, broad shouldered, thickly muscled, with his brilliant light blue eyes and, ummm, the scent of hard work clinging to him. The quirky little grin on his lips told me he'd noted my interest.

"Hey," I forced the words past my suddenly dry mouth. A drop of sweat beaded on his brow and I watched it trickle down his temple and into the faint stubble of his jaw.

"Hey, yourself." Gabe leaned forward and my vision blurred as he kissed me. I might have fallen on my ass if he hadn't held me up with his arm around my waist.

When did that happen? I chased his lips for another kiss, savoring the taste of man and mint and the mingled odors of outdoors and wood and sweat that comprised Gabe. No fancy cologne had ever done it for me like the natural smells that clung to Gabe after a day of work.

"Did, um…" My voice faded as he shifted his focus to nibble at my neck, tugging aside the neckline of my Dolce and Gabbana tee. It felt so damn good, the nip and suck of his mouth along my collarbone that I couldn’t even bring myself to protest the potential ruination of my favorite designer wear. Closing my eyes, I let the sensations sweep through me, the rough caress of his stubbled jaw on my skin, the slick glide of his tongue.

"Zeke? I’m opening the Chubby Hubby!" Mindy hollered from the back of the house, breaking the fog of lust that had begun to drown me. I pushed gently against Gabe's chest, shivering a little as the muscles bunched under my touch. He pulled back and smiled down at me, lips glistening, tempting me to toss aside the night I'd planned and dive right back into his mouth and the passionate interlude it promised.

"Did we have plans?" Was that my voice, so deep and husky? If I could sound like that all the time, I'd be a radio DJ, not an aspiring chef.

"No, I finished up an installation at your neighbor around the block's place and thought I'd stop by on the off chance that you'd be here. When I saw the car in the drive, I figured I'd stop."

I was mesmerized by the drops of water gliding down his nose and cheeks, by the flush on his skin and the sparkle in his eye. That was the only excuse I could think of for what happened next. Blinded by lust. "Come in. Mindy's here, but we can go to my room."

The door swung shut behind him, and he spun me around against the wall for another kiss. I couldn't help arching up into him, grinding my cock against his thigh in search of a little relief from the ache of need that had blossomed with the first sight of him.

"He gone now?" Mindy shouted again.

"Am I interrupting?" Gabe whispered against my lips.

I jerked back to reality with a crash. Gabe stared at me, a little frown between his brows. I rubbed it away with my thumb. "No," I called back. "You got your pants on? We're coming back there."

I grabbed Gabe's hand and half dragged him down the hall to the family room. "We were just cuddled up back here eating ice cream and watching some Iron Chef," I explained.

"Okay." He accepted my assertion, but how would Mindy react?

She gave me a telling frown when I dragged Gabe into the room behind me. "Hey, Min. You don't mind if Gabe joins us, do you?"

The frown vanished to be replaced by a polite smile. "No, come on in." Mindy swung her bare legs off the couch and dropped the Chunky Monkey container on the coffee table. "In fact, since you're here to keep my baby brother company, I think I'll just go on back to my room and make a few phone calls."

"You don't have to do that, Mindy," I protested. "We only have a few weeks left before you go back."

She did that thing I hate where she flips her hair over her shoulder and acts dumb. "Yeah, but I’ve got to call some people up there and make sure everything is set for my apartment in the fall."

Having stripped off his T-shirt, Gabe slipped into the nest of blankets on the sofa and held an arm out to me. Mindy rolled her eyes and flounced down the hall. I let go of my disappointment at Mindy's exit and climbed into his lap. Tugging a blanket over us. Strangely enough, my parents insisted on running the air conditioning at a consistent seventy-two degrees all summer long, so no matter how hot it was outside, I always felt a bit of a chill inside. My pop said it was more economical, and he wasn't one to take into consideration the fact that I was freezing half the time, so I wore flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt for this lounge night.

"What are you watching?" Gabe was staring at the television with an expression of something akin to horror.

I glanced at the screen, where Morimoto was hacking the head off a huge salmon. "Classic Iron Chef. It's fantastic. Have you ever seen it? They make all this really beautiful food using parts of the ingredient that we'd never use in America."

"Okay."

Seeing his lack of enthusiasm, I shrugged and settled myself closer against him. "It's DVR'ed. If you want to watch something else, the remote is on the table behind you. I've seen this a million times anyway."

His sigh of relief jostled me as I rested my cheek against his chest. When Gabe stretched back to reach behind for the remote, I nuzzled his arm pit, soaking up the scents of him, feeling my senses reel with the intensity of his presence. I blew out a breath, and he jerked, grabbing my ass with one hand.

"That tickles!"

"I know." I licked a stripe down from his pit to his nipple and set about amusing myself as he switched the channel to something that sounded like football. The tangy salt of sweat and the underlying flavor of soap and Gabe's skin enticed me to continue.

Strong fingers combed through my hair, holding me in place as I took a lick of a taut brown nipple.

Sighing, Gabe pushed me closer, and I knew what he wanted. I sucked the nub into my mouth, flicked it with my tongue until his fingers clenched and he groaned. "Your sister?"

"She's not going to come back out here. That was her not so subtle way of telling me to get some when she left earlier." I tipped back and dragged my tongue up his Adam's apple, over his chin to settle my mouth against his again.

I licked and nibbled and teased until he took over the kiss, pressuring my mouth apart, crushing our lips together so he could plunge his tongue to the depths of my mouth. I sucked his tongue, rubbed against it with my own. We strained together, until I slowly became aware that I was humping against him furiously. Cock creating a wet spot on my pj's, lungs practically burning from lack of oxygen.

It was my turn to pull back, and he nearly refused to let me.

"Wait." I pushed upright, so I sat astride his lean hips. Thrusting up, he brushed the ridge of his cock, straining at the zip of his jeans, against my crease. "Yeah, I want that," I murmured, pulling my T-shirt up over my head and tossing it to the side. "But I don't have anything in here."

His eyes nearly crossed, and his grip on my hips tightened. "We can go to your room, or you can lift off me so I can get my wallet out."

Chapter Two

I opted for the fastest means to getting fucked, which as it turned out, required me to move. I crab walked backward and scooched my flannel pants off. It was flattering in the extreme that he couldn't seem to take his eyes off me while he fumbled his jeans down and retrieved a distressed leather wallet from the back pocket.

Leaning back against the arm of the couch in my nest of blankets, I spread my thighs, propping one up over the back of the couch and bracing my other foot on the floor, so he could get a really good view.

I stroked my cock and enjoyed the show as my muscular boyfriend stripped away his boxers and kicked aside the flip flops he wore. His tongue flickered over his lips, his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. I imagined I could hear the thrum of blood matching mine, the beat of his heart setting a rhythm.

Leaving his jeans, shirt, and underwear in a tangle, Gabe opened the wallet and extracted a condom and a packet of lube. In other circumstances, with another guy, I might have been annoyed by the arrogance, the presumption that he'd get lucky.

With Gabe I was just glad he was prepared and I told him so. "I want you now."

He ripped open the packet and rolled on the condom, then he was suddenly there, big and bold, between my legs, kissing me breathless again until the thundering of my heart and the rush of blood was the only thing I could hear.

He pushed my hand out of the way and his slick fingers trailed down my body, burrowing under my balls and scraping, sensitizing the skin as he worked his way down to the pucker of my ass. I groaned and pushed into his touch, his skin was coarse from all the work he did with his hands, and those callouses and patches of rough skin made for an incredible variety of sensations as he tended to making me ready.

The muscles gave under the consistency of his rubbing, the tissue softening, and on a gasp of breath, his finger slipped inside. I rocked into him, wanting more. "Hurry," I gasped out as he brushed his finger over my gland sending a jolt of electric sensation shivering through me.

"Not, yet," he gritted out between clenched teeth. He withdrew his thrusting finger and added a second one before pushing back in.

"Fuck!" I muffled the shout in the blanket, biting down as I strained into his touch.

He pulled his fingers out and lifted me, hand cupped beneath my buttocks as he guided his sheathed cock to my hole with other. "Yes," he groaned as the ring of muscle stretched and allowed him entry.

He felt huge, filling me so completely as he slid deeper, finally coming to rest. He stopped there, fully embedded while I caught my breath and adjusted to the invasion. No matter how often we did this, it always felt new, overwhelmingly, suffocatingly intense when he was buried so deeply inside me that I could swear I felt his dick nudging against my heart. "Now," I pleaded as the sensation of fullness gave way to a need for more.

He heeded my demand, began moving in and out, at first slowly, then harder and deeper as I rocked up into his movements. Tension tightened my limbs, what started out as smooth practiced rhythm devolved into jerky movements and nearly sobbed breaths as I struggled to draw air into lungs that burned with effort.

His hand closed on my cock, stroked it with the perfect pressure, thumb rubbing over the leaking tip, smearing pre-cum down my length to slicken the touch, digging into the soft head, squeezing me tight in a demanding fist until I froze, muscles clenched as fire ripped through me. The blast of seed hit high on my chest, the second filled my belly button, the third trickled over his stroking hand that never stopped moving until I was flinching away from his touch on oversensitized skin.

"What do I do with this?" he drawled, voice raw and satisfied.

And then I became aware that the world still turned, that he'd stopped moving and withdrawn from my body while I was lost in the fog of pleasure. "In the corner under the desk." I dragged myself together, retrieving one limb from the floor and the other from the sofa back. My muscles protested, settling into place. Some stretches weren't quite covered in a workout.

What had been thrilling and sexy as hot aromatic cum was cooling and turning into sticky itchy goo pulling at my chest hair. Reluctantly I stood and looked around for the red plaid of my flannel pants. I found them draped over the coffee table, one leg in a melting tub of Chunky Monkey. Sighing, I pulled on my pajama pants. "I'm going to clean up. Be right back."

Gabe smiled vaguely at me and grabbed for his own jeans.

I ducked into the guest bathroom and washed up with a clean damp washcloth. I'd take a shower, but somehow, leaving Gabe alone in my living room post coitus felt wrong. I took the cloth and my soiled pajamas into my own room, because there are some things my mother just doesn't need to find in the laundry, and swiftly dressed in cargo shorts and a clean T-shirt.

By the time I arrived in the living room, Gabe had cleaned up the mess, tossed out the melted ice cream, and folded the rest of my clothes. The sight of him, sitting in the La-Z-Boy arm chair we all pitched in to buy my dad for father's day, watching television, pissed me off.

Don't ask me why. I had been looking forward to cuddling blissfully on the sofa with him, but it shouldn’t have been that big a deal. Something inside me snapped, and anger heated my cheeks. I stalked into the room and grabbed the remote from his hand.

I was practically shaking with rage when I stood in front of him. "I'm tired of being taken for granted."

His gaze jerked to me from the television and back. I felt a momentary satisfaction. He looked stunned, but the expression disappeared so quickly I wasn't sure I'd seen it.

"I think we need to spend some time apart."

His gaze didn't waver from the television screen, though his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Okay, Zeke, whatever you want."

I waited for a moment, but when he didn't say anything else, I clicked the television off and flung the remote on the sofa. "Let yourself out, why don't you?"

I knew as I stormed down the hall to my room that whatever had just happened didn't make any sense. I tried to reason with myself, but all I ended up doing was listing a litany of Gabe's offenses and convincing myself that I was better off alone than with a boyfriend who took me for granted.

And that was how fast a beautiful relationship could go to shit.

Promise Me You'll Say Yes : New Extended Excerpt MM Contemporary Romance

It wasn't the reunion they planned....

I'm  going to ask you to do something I have never asked to to do before. Promise me you'll say yes." 

The Park at Sunrise

Chapter One

The park at sunrise. How many nights had we ended up here? Coffee from the all-night truck stop in Jamestown in hand, steam rising as we walked, searching for that most exclusive private spot where we could see but not be seen. The bench that was sheltered by just the right number of trees, with the best view of the pond and the flagpoles and the sunrise.

Nights of parties, concerts, hanging out, or working had all ended in this spot. When the fun was done, we sobered up as the sun rose here. When we were exhausted from working those double shifts and pulling all-nighters, the sunrise reminded us why we worked so hard. When we were flying high on concert-induced endorphins, it spun wild dreams in our heads that spilled from our mouths in raucous harmony. The three of us, wrapped in one blanket, sipping from one bottle, from one cup, contemplated that sunrise. In snow and rain and heat and cold we huddled here. For four years, this place colored our lives in ways we couldn't imagine.

The bench we'd claimed as ours drew me onward. My feet recognized the path, if my mind did not. In the inside pocket of my too-thin-for-the-Colorado-cold-but just-right-for-California black leather jacket, the crinkle of paper jabbed at my soul. As much as anything else, it was why I was here.

When I found it, the bench was still the same with its old, wrought-iron rails and splintery wooden slats. I stopped. Progressing from here would be harder. The cold seeped through the inadequate leather soles of my knee-high black boots, chilling my feet. Once I'd known how to dress for the cold. Once cold hadn't mattered. I'd had their warmth to keep me warm. For years I'd had a vision, locked in my head. This bench, this park, the sun rising in the background. The first flakes of falling snow drifting down. On the bench, two men whose heads turned as I approached, who jumped to their feet with open arms and welcoming smiles. The first time we met here, the last time we met here.

Today, I had a memory. A sunrise that would start soon. I forced myself forward, placed one booted foot on the seat and hoisted myself into the familiar position, buttocks perched on the topmost slat of the bench. Splinters prickled against the seat of my 501s, but the first changing light as the sun made its appearance caught my gaze. Since the last time I'd sat here, the last time we'd been together, I hadn't sat through many sunrises. I'd observed a lot of sunsets on the Pacific coast, but the sunrise had become a time of regret.
As I leaned forward to rest my elbows on my knees and prop my chin in my hands, the crinkle of the envelope in my pocket and the crunch of dead leaves on the grass behind me competed for my attention. I drew the envelope from my inner pocket as the footsteps approached. I knew who it was. Had realized he would be here, though how he had known I would be was anyone's guess. It appeared to me that I hardly knew what I was doing, catching that plane, leaving behind friends and commitments. Me. Mr. Responsible. Reliable. Dependable. Had I even called in and told the principal I wouldn't be there for the last week of classes? I couldn't recall. He'd figure it out when the Calc I kids showed up for the key to the classroom, no doubt.

The sudden drag of a wool cap being tugged down over my long hair startled me. It shouldn't have. I should have predicted he'd be in this "taking care of Morgan" mode. At twenty two it had been endearing; at thirty two it pissed me off. Deep, calming breaths kept the anger manageable. Come here, do what needed to be done, get on the next plane back to California, back to emotional stability.

"I see you're dressed for the weather as always, Morgan." Jason's voice was husky, hesitant.
A pair of black knit gloves landing in my lap tipped me over that edge from making a snide remark to throwing an uncalled-for hissy fit.

My jaw clenched tightly. Screw breathing deeply. I yanked the cap from my head, pulling long strands of black hair from the band at my neck, and winced at the tiny pain. I flung the cap to the ground in front of us and looked up the black denim-clad legs to the black pea coat and beyond. My mouth opened to swear, but no sound came out. The hissy fit drained away to something else entirely. My pulse still raced, but for an entirely different reason.

How fair was that? How fucking fair was it that after ten years apart, my hair showed silvery streaks and my face showed my age, but Jason was still the slender, boyish youth of years gone by? Yeah, he'd shaved the dirty blond dreadlocks. Those wire-rim glasses were new, but he appeared as youthful and vibrant, untouched by life, alive as he had when we'd all parted years ago to make those sunrise dreams reality. His black jeans had the telltale smudges of paint, and I'd be willing to bet that underneath those leather driving gloves lurked more paint.

This wasn't the reunion we planned then. It was nine years too late, for one thing. We were one man short, for another.

The bench creaked as he perched next to me on the top slat, and instinctively I grabbed his knee to anchor both of us so we wouldn't topple backward. His hand covered mine before I could jerk it away, and he refused to relinquish it when I tugged. I gave in with ill grace. Jason’s touch stirred physical responses that I’d rather not experience.

"I sent you an invitation to my gallery opening last year."

"I got it."

"You couldn't make it." No judgment. Levelheaded, easygoing, that was Jason. I didn't even understand how he knew to send the damn invitation to the school in the first place. For all I knew, he still lived with his parents and painted in that fucking unheated studio over their garage.

I handed him the envelope. The envelope that had brought me here, as he had known it would, when nothing else could. "I want to buy it."

He shook his head. "It's not for sale. That's not why I sent it to you."

Heat pooled at the back of my neck, and the tiny, irritating noise of my own teeth grinding warned of a potential headache in the offing. I turned, made eye contact for the first time. "Then why? Why send it? Fuck, why paint it? How the hell could you even stand to paint that picture? It kills me that you could have done that, like it doesn't mean fucking anything to you." By the time I spit out the last words, my voice had risen enough to scare off the waterfowl in the pond.

The expression on his face was one I'd never noticed before. I thought I had all their expressions memorized, his and Paul's. Oh, Christ. "Paul." The name slipped out, the memories in. I dropped my head to my knees again, breaking eye contact. I had to create mental distance since physical wasn't possible. I was empty, raw. My stomach tightened and my eyes burned.

"Morgan, it means everything to me. It's all I have. That painting, it's the heart and soul of who I am, who you are, who Paul was." The hand clutching mine drew away, and I nearly protested as cold took its place. Then I felt him fussing. I rolled my eyes as he loosened the band from my hair and combed his fingers through it before gathering it back into a neater ponytail, smoothing the hairs pulled loose by the wool cap. It felt too good to be cared for like that again. I jerked upright and away.

"Damn it, Jason, I don't want to go there. We can't recapture the past! You are not my mother. You are not Paul." I narrowed my eyes and gave him the look that intimidated school board members and recalcitrant football players alike. "Why did you send it if you won't sell me the painting?"

"Were you here? May twenty-sixth, two thousand one? Because I was."

I stared at him. My anger was fading, heart rate returning to normal. The heat from earlier was replaced by a chill that had nothing to do with the low temperature. Surely he was kidding. "Why? Why did you bother? Paul was dead by then. You had to know I wouldn't come."

"No, I didn't. See, somehow, I never thought it was all about you and Paul. Somehow, I thought it was all about you, me, and Paul. I guess I naively believed that without Paul, you and I would need each other even more."

I couldn't speak, but my shock must have shown on my face. With an impatient sigh, Jason jumped from the bench. I automatically steadied myself, swaying slightly as the bench protested the sudden movement.
He tossed the photo from the envelope into my lap. "I have it crated and ready to ship. Pick it up at my parents' house any time. I won't be there."

I didn't look up. I didn't speak. I listened to his footsteps, muffled now by the snow that had fallen on the crunching leaves. As the colors changed and faded from the morning sky, I stared at the photo of the painting that had brought me here. Three men on a bench in a park at sunrise, three heads pressed together, three hands clasped. If one of the images was a little blurry, I couldn't tell if that was the artist's intent, the tears in my eyes, or the snow that fell on the photo.



Chapter Two

May twenty-six, two thousand, the day after graduation, was a day I remembered well. It was the last time we'd sat here at sunrise together at the end of a long night of celebratory graduation activities. We'd started with Paul's family taking us to lunch at the country club. We'd all sat in uncomfortable splendor, making stilted small talk while Paul's parents smiled their tiny, icy smiles of approval at us all. Jason and I were on our best behavior. We'd run tame in one another's homes since we'd met in kindergarten, and it hadn't taken us long to adapt our behavior with Paul's parents to a more sedate, discreet level. As far as the rigid and correct Mr. and Mrs. Archer St. John were concerned, we were still Paulie's best friends, the bohemian painter boy and the cute geek who played chess. Paul's parents had no idea that there was so much more involved now.

From the country club, we'd rushed over to a backyard BBQ at Jason's parents' house, where we could be as openly affectionate with each other as we liked. A sense of impending disaster hung in the air, a something-wicked-this-way-comes aura that compelled us to cling together. We accepted congratulations, drank icy cold beers, and ate hot dogs and chili with Jason's parents and their friends before escaping to the studio above the garage.

The studio had been first our playroom, then our clubhouse, then a studio when Jason began to show an interest in art. Always, it had been our preferred hangout. Jason's studio had been the scene of many an evening of debauchery and mayhem. We'd gotten drunk for the first time there, we'd smoked pot for the first time there, and we'd had sex for the first time there. A ratty old futon and a table next to the easel were the only furnishings. A CD player sat on the floor nearby, and the scent of oil paint and turpentine had seeped into the wood.

Graduation day, we'd fallen together on that futon and held each other close for long moments. We exchanged kisses and caresses, whispers of reassurance and love. In this place we could pretend that our world wasn't changing more rapidly than we'd prepared for. In this place, we could just be...three men in love.

I leaned against the door and watched as my friends, my lovers, hastily shed clothing and set the scene. Jason had Tom Petty pouring from the CD player in no time. I feasted my eyes on smooth white skin, taut, firmly muscled bodies, and hard, throbbing cocks as I slipped out of my own Dockers and dress shirt.
As always when we were close, we couldn't keep our hands to ourselves. I sighed in pleasure. I lay back on the futon in the corner, salvaged from Jason's mom's renovation of the guest room years earlier, and watched Jason and Paul kiss hungrily.

Cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, they approached me, intent on satisfaction. One hot, wet mouth latched on to a nipple, and the other covered mine. I reveled in the flavor of Paul's mouth as Jason sucked me sweetly, tenderly. I nudged him away.

"All of us, at the same time," I whispered.

A bit of shuffling and rearranging and Jason was on his knees beside the bed, Paul behind him. While Jason tormented me, severely testing my willpower with the seductive heat of his mouth, Paul prepped him for entry.

Jason moaned in gratification as Paul's thick cock slid slowly into his waiting body. Paul paused and we all waited, poised on the edge of orgasm, for Jason to adjust to the invasion. At last his brow smoothed, and his lips parted on a sigh of pleasure. He opened his mouth wide to take my cock to the root, and Paul thrust carefully, his face intent, eyes luminous as they met mine. We leaned forward to kiss over Jason, who arched his neck and twisted his head to get a part of the kiss.

Kisses were forgotten as the end fast approached, and Jason reached for his own cock, to have his hand batted away by Paul, who stroked him furiously, matching his rhythm.

Jason pulled away from my cock when orgasm overcame him, and I stared enraptured as ecstasy washed over his features. Beautiful, he was so fucking beautiful when he came. My own tribute to love spurted, landing in slick arcs across his face, lips, and chin. Paul cried out and slumped forward as he too found satisfaction. We lay in replete aftermath, words of love, soft chuckles, and tender jibes passing for conversation.

The demands of the world couldn't be held back for long, and no sooner had we made ourselves decent than it was time to head off for the next event.

The round of parties and drinking and celebration had lasted throughout the night, and every minute that passed, we became as a unit more desperate to break away. Our time together was precious now, because the next day would bring a big change. Bigger, perhaps, than we had dreamed.

In all our dreamy talks and confidences, reality had never played a part. I never realized how my heart would ache at the idea of being separated from Jason and Paul. I had only considered how wonderful California would be with the beaches, the missions, the cities, and the museums. The job I'd been offered had seemed like a dream come true. A place that wasn't always ass-freezing cold? Summers free, and long holidays? Teaching in California had a great deal of appeal. I tried to convince the others to leave with me, but Paul had a job offer in New York City, and Jason wanted to paint in the mountains. His parents would allow him to stay at home and focus on his art, and he wouldn't even need to work.

So this was it. May twenty-six, two thousand, sunrise in the park. The final sunrise for a year.

We sat together, arms wrapped about each other, staring out across the still water of the pond, focusing on the deep blues giving way to intense reds and oranges, unspeaking. There were no more words to say. This was goodbye. Two of us had flights out of town that afternoon, and one of us had pictures to paint.
"You're coming back, right?" Jason asked.

I turned and reached across Paul, in the middle, to tug on one of Jason's dreadlocks, twining it about my fingers. As I shifted on the bench, my shoulder brushed Paul and sent him swaying as well. His hand landed on Jason's knee as he, too, turned.

"Babe," I remember saying with foolish confidence. "Nothing could keep me away!"

"May twenty-six, two thousand one," Paul's mellow, cultured voice inserted. "We'll meet here at sunrise and see how the year has gone." Paul grabbed our hands, withdrew a pen from his pocket—ever the closet poet, our Paul—and he wrote on the backs of our hands.

"So you won't forget." He drew both newly inked hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to each inner palm, and my skin tingled in response, as always.

Jason stared at his hand and at mine, then grabbed Paul's hand and the pen. He carefully copied Paul's 5/26/01 sunrise comment and added something I couldn't quite read beneath it. Then he grabbed my hand, and as I watched, he added the same notation to mine. A tiny series of three hearts overlapped under the message.

Not to be outdone, I grabbed the pen and scrawled an infinity symbol below each message, then held out my hand to Jason. "Do mine too." He complied, tracing the symbol below the hearts.

Paul took out his cell phone, and we lay our hands in his lap. He snapped a quick shot, and we sighed in relief. A pact had been made.

This was no end. It was a beginning, and we would still be together.

END EXCERPT 

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